


Please

by Imprise



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, John Watson-centric, Letters, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, POV First Person, POV John Watson, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imprise/pseuds/Imprise
Summary: John's indifference to Sherlock's feelings drives the two apart. Months later, John realizes his error and what he is willing to do to fix it.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is short, this is rambling, and this time it's in diary format, or letter format, which might make it muddy. I hope it gets across anyway.

Jan 18

Look, you left me. That's not how I'd have wanted to say it but there's no doubt that you did. Now I'm here and I'm sort of, waiting, you know, to see how badly I'm hurt, except I don't have to wait because I know, or I'd know if I ever looked at myself. But that's not the reason I'm writing. I will always tell you why I'm writing because I know you'll have deduced my point already, and I want to think of you with that walk-in glee you carry around, to set a foot or a toe into now and then when something your brain tells you is right. Of course I know the glee is never visible but it was clear enough to me. Dear God, I love you. I couldn't care less about being vulnerable Sherlock I love you. I love you more than I love myself and my arteries. I love you like I love the Chilean coastline, like I would love grains of sand on the floor of a cave. I would love you in the dark crawling with my wrist broken and I would love you if you took both my eyes out. You have taken both my eyes out. I love you more fiercely because you left me and that's all I can tell you today. Look, Sherlock, it's not funny anymore, so please come back so I can be nice and homely to you. Come back so I can tell you to shut up. Sherlock I will give you eight ounces of my skin if you come back. I will give you ten ounces. I'll chop off my hand at the wrist just you say it. Sherlock can you please come now.

 

Jan 19

Interesting how mad that last bit was yesterday isn't it. Was the fight my fault. Was the absence of one my fault Sherlock. I knew you never told me but I knew already, that you liked me a lot. Of course I knew. I mean I knew you loved me. Yes, love is a very blurry word, not as nice as like, but you know what I mean: You went around me like a small planet and then you went around me like a very large one. No one noticed because my orbit was more visible. I knew and I didn't do anything about it. You knew I knew. I am aware of all of this and it is burning my face and everything under my face. If I were less alone I would cry. I can't believe I let you go like that. Sherlock, I'm abhorrently proud. There, I said it: I am, abhorrently, proud. It's as if I've eaten a pound of sand and gone back for seconds, and now I can't move my stomach to tell anyone anything. I couldn't tell you anything. If you asked me now I don't know if I would tell you. Sherlock you have to strike me very hard for me to get up from this chair.

I went to the surgery yesterday and today, obviously, I'll go again tomorrow. My hand has begun twitching a little, here and there. I'm doing no ultra-sensitive work these days so I couldn't care less, I don't care much about the work either if we're being honest. I can't write without being boring. The gist is Sherlock please come back.

 

Jan 22

Where did you go? I'm picturing you in all sorts of places. Is your nose at this moment seeing the sun? It’s not the sort of day I’d dream about in January, which means you’re definitely out, and maybe even not chasing a case, just being out. Are there people around you? What are they doing, what are they saying? I want to sift through their languages when I'm at it. I can't imagine you without your coat but it's still here on its peg. I saw it this morning and fancied, for a second, that you were dead, and you were still in the flat being dead, and I was pretending you were missing, stepping over your body where I lay it down. This could be true but I'm not mad enough to do something like that. Honest, Sherlock, I'm not mad at all. I wasn't when I was fighting and I am not now, I'd phone someone if you died. I'd be robust and reticent and not cry one tear. I would let Lestrade convince me I was upset and then not talk to him for years. You're not dead, you just left me. I realize that's repetitive.

I sit down and remember exactly what happened that night sometimes. I am doing it today. You said: Nothing. You had on an expression that I didn't understand. I said I want you to be direct with me. You said I don't want you. That's what you said, and I didn't get up, I didn't think, I didn't think why you told me that, and you said it so coldly, you're like an iceberg Sherlock, like a glacier, catching the light in your caverns, your jagged ends, the fogged morning sun washing your insides blue. You are the most incomprehensible and beautiful thing I have ever seen and will ever have the privilege of seeing. You were so cold that I didn't think the reason you left was my indifference. Sherlock, I've never been indifferent, not for a moment, you know I would die for you. You know I would suck each one of your fingers. I didn't realize that the reason you left was that I pretended to be indifferent, I never admitted a single thing, and you told me you didn't want me, as if that would make you safe. That bit didn't save anyone but leaving might have done you good. It did me very bad. I don't know why I wanted you to be direct, I knew nothing good would come out of it, and you're always direct, it was a useless sentence. I'd rather you'd ignored my irrelevance than depart because of it. You are every nerve ending and every sound in the night. I want you to eat my bones.

 

Jan 25

You came, took your coat, and went back out to do whatever it is you're doing. Seeing you walk around isn't as painful until it is. I sometimes consider leaving this out for you to read before I realize that you probably know I write it, and you've probably read it, and you don't need the extra incentive: It would just be desperate. I know I am already desperate. It's a wonder we're still in the same house. I count my blessings and feel like a young girl, stranded between her pride and the dissolving love of her life. Every time I catch you walking you look a little thinner, like the shade of a shade of something unreal. I'm going to talk to you soon. I know exactly how many months it has been. I can move my saltmine of a body. I love you. I'm going to come to you myself.

 

Jan 26

I don't know how I'll come to you.

 

Jan 27

I hope you're reading these. You don't use my laptop anymore and I'd put it on yours if I could open it. Do you have a password? I'll leave mine open just in case.

 

Jan 30

I wish you'd look at my face.

 

Feb 2

Yes, all right, we're okay. I told you I loved you and you said it was obsession stimulated by the forcible removal of an object of desire. I knew that made sense but I love you more viscerally than that, you madman. I'm not going to repeat myself. I feel more like the man I should be every day. I can think this over, you know, and never arrive at a different conclusion than that I need you to be with me. Do you want me to explain why? I don't know why. Do I need to explain? Advise please.

 

Feb 3

I realize you may have skipped most of the previous entries because they're full of idle poetry. They're not really, I just have no other way of describing things. I need another few days to tell you why. But it's not fair: I could be of much more help if I were actually in contact with my object of affection. Sherlock, you are impeding my investigation. Of course I'll complete it but that’s fairly irritating.

 

Feb 9

I say I love you because, on one hand, I have a great vat of tenderness for you, and I use the other hand to draw from it as I would draw water from a very deep well. This tenderness is not always correct, but it is always present, and is not only a drive to make you scream, but also to see that you never have a trouble in your life again. I burn beside you at crime scenes. I run with you, I sit with you, I'm gruff and odd-footed but I have never been this desperate or this addled in my life. I am telling you all of this at the price of great nakedness. I have never spoken or thought this way. I love you because I feel you breathing in the next room. I think about your happiness and well-being. I know my actions have not reflected it in romantic terms before and I know I have been crude with your good and delicate bits but that's it, I am, very, stupid. In many ways I'm very mediocre. Please don't be repulsed by me when you learn.

 

Self-centered infatuation. Will pass.

SH

 

No it won't. Glad to know you read this. Why do you think it will? How can you say that after reading what you’ve read?

 

Feb 10

Sherlock are you going to answer me?

 

Feb 11

It's not infatuation. Yes, maybe that entire paragraph was a bit self-absorbed, and yes I'm self-indulgent when I'm writing but it is focused on you. I'll give up a large house of my inner organs for you. Sherlock, please, please, please, talk, to, me.

 

Feb 14

I don't know how to be clearer. I realize rambling won't help. My only comfort is that you are reading what I write. I am blistering from not talking to anyone. I will make my last attempt tomorrow. I hope you give me a chance to show you that I mean what I am saying. I promise I will leave if I do not, if you get tired of me, if I am turned the wrong way around, even if it happens in a year, if it happens in fifty. I am yours.

 

Nov 18

I’m sorry. Goodbye.


End file.
